


How the Grinch Stole Christmas

by an_sceal



Category: 21 Jump Street (Movies)
Genre: Bromance, Case Fic, Christmas, Gen, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 11:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2810528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_sceal/pseuds/an_sceal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jenko and Schmidt go to the North Pole, via the mall.  (With apologies to Build-A-Bear and Boris Karloff.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	How the Grinch Stole Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kissoffools](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissoffools/gifts).



Jenko had learned two very important things in the past week.

  1.       Just because most colleges were on break and there weren't any high school cases to be had, didn't mean he got to take time off.
  2.       Tights were absolutely not the same thing as skinny jeans.



 

The kid in Schmidt’s lap was puckering up to cry, so Jenko half-heartedly waved his giant sparkly candy cane, shaking the bells on his costume as he tried to distract her before anyone could get disgruntled.

He caught sight of the line stretching around the corner toward Macy's.  Dozens of kids screaming and running circles around their parents, who were about to pay $40 for a candy cane that was probably stale when Reagan was in office, and a laser-printed photo of their sticky children sitting on the lap of an undercover cop.

More disgruntled, then. 

"Okay, sweetie.  Santa's got your list, so be real good between now and Christmas, okay?" Schmidt said, snapping Jenko to attention. 

The little girl narrowed her eyes.  "You're not really Santa.  You don't sound like Santa, and you don't look like Santa.  You're a _liar_!"  Braids flying, she slid out of Schmidt's artificially jolly lap, then pulled her foot back to aim a kick.  Jenko caught her little arm, careful not to grab too hard, and forced a huge smile onto his face as her mom came to scold her.  He gave her an extra candy cane to mollify her.  She was right anyway—Schmidt was kind of a shitty Santa.

As the little girl and her mother left the raised platform that held the artificially wintry wonderland, the large clock overhead bonged twice, and one of the other elves announced to the people waiting in line that Santa would be back in just a few minutes.  Schmidt stood up and waved to the assembled crowd, belting out an impressively deep "Ho ho ho!" before opening the service door disguised as the entrance to Santa's workshop. 

Jenko followed Schmidt, and the second the door closed, he popped the wrapper off the candy cane in his hand.  "Jesus fucking Christ, man.  I'm never having kids."

Schmidt snorted.  “After wearing those?  Yeah, probably not.”

Jenko looked down at the thick green tights he was wearing, tugging the hem of the stupid elf shirt that was supposed to (but didn’t quite) cover his ass.  He glanced up in time to see Schmidt staring.  “Dude, are you checking out my package?”

Schmidt sputtered, his face turning red.  “What?  No!”  He shook his head violently, the fake Santa beard skewing.

“You totally were.”  Jenko stuffed the candy cane in his mouth and put his hands on his hips, thrusting his crotch towards Schmidt and trying not to laugh.  “It’s okay, Santa, you can get all up in my jingle bells if you want to.”

Schmidt rolls his eyes, flipping Jenko the bird.  “Your _jingle bells_?  Who are you, even?  Come on, we’re supposed to be looking for the Grinch.”

“How come the drug names keep getting more stupid?”  Jenko kept his voice down as they headed deeper into the hidden depths of the mall, but he felt his question had merit.  Now that anybody with a passing grade in chemistry and access to cough syrup could make their own designer drugs, the cheese factor in street names seemed to be skyrocketing.  Grinch was the latest local fad; a holiday hybrid of Xanax and amphetamines that left a person able to not give a fuck with maximum efficiency.  Until they got the giggles.  Then it was all lowered inhibitions and laughs, a euphoric dump of serotonin that had left three people in comas, and killed two others.  Users either woke up with a killer headache and vague memories of what they'd done, or they didn't wake up at all.

He and Schmidt had tracked the drugs back to this mall, and a couple others throughout the city, but so far nobody could figure out where they were actually being sold.  Mall management said there were over thirty pop-up stores, only in business for the few months around the holidays, not to mention several hundred temporary employees.  It wasn't like anybody needed to pass a background check to sell foot massagers or soft pretzels.

Jenko had suggested they could go in as mall cops and been shot down by Schmidt, of all people, who pointed out that whoever was dealing would be on the lookout for security of any kind.  Captain Dickson had given them that unsettling smile, staring straight at Schmidt when he _Die Hard_ ed the shit out of them.

"Ho ho ho, motherfuckers.  You boys best bundle up, cause you're going to the north pole."

All the walking was making his stupid tights ride up the crack of his ass again, and Jenko reached forward and flicked Schmidt's ear.

Schmidt clapped a hand over the side of his head, stopping to glare over his shoulder at Jenko.  "Ow, asshole!  What the hell was that for?"

"For not finding out if your hookups are related to your boss, dumbass."

"How is this my fault?  Maya broke up with me, not the other way around."  He turned away from Jenko, grumbling something else under his breath that Jenko couldn't catch. 

They moved on, rounding the corner into the main storage area, and Jenko caught Schmidt's sleeve, pulling him down behind some human-sized Easter eggs.  "There."  Pointing across the dim expanse of creepy decorations and broken rental strollers, he directed Schmidt's attention to the man pushing a handtruck off the freight elevator.  The boxes stacked three high were labelled "GRINCH".

"No fucking way.  C'mon, it's Christmas.  Everyone is selling Grinch shit.  There's no way they're trucking drugs around--"

"Using a common holiday name that evokes nostalgia and wouldn't get a second glance from anyone?  Yeah, I can totally see the downside to that plan."  Schmidt's sarcasm didn't bite as deep as it might have, but Jenko had gotten used to him having good points.

"Fine.  So how are we going to explain that our childhood memories are so strong he should let us look through those boxes so we can satiate our need for fuzzy green haters?"  Jenko risked poking his head up to get a better look, only to find that their guy was heading around the corner and into the tangle of access corridors beyond.  "Shit!  Come on, Santa.  Book it, or we're gonna lose him."

Schmidt didn't move, shaking his head.  "Wait.  I'll go after him.  I've got the gun, remember?  I'll distract him, try to get him away from the boxes, and you take a look inside them."

It wasn't the worst plan, so Jenko shrugged.  "Yeah, okay.  But if he goes for you, shoot him somehere that's going to slow him down, because remember, that's a dude who'd attack _Santa._ "

Schmidt smiled at Jenko for a second, and then he was gone, stumbling over something and knocking it down with a clatter that echoed through the cavernous room.  Jenko hunched in his hiding spot, waiting for their mark to turn around before he ran for a pile of something covered in mildewed canvas.

"Hey man, do you know how to get to the Barnes & Noble through this mess?  I'm supposed to make an entrance through their fire door or something, and I'm totally lost."  Schmidt raised his voice, trying to grab the other guy's attention for a minute, and Jenko peeked to see if he could make his move yet. 

Their dude was pointing Schmidt in the opposite direction, trying to diagram turns with hand gestures, and Schmidt had his best clueless face on.  Jenko didn't think many people stood a chance against that.  Eventually the guy rolled his eyes and waved at the hallways, heading off to lead Schmidt.  Jenko did his best to ignore the pulse of fear as Schmidt disappeared.  That was his partner, and it was his job to protect him, but they'd never find out if this was what they were looking for if they didn't split up. 

He hadn't considered how he was going to get into the boxes, but luckily they weren't taped shut.  He peeled open one of the flaps, peering into a carton full of DVDs.  "Fuck me," he muttered, slipping one free for a better look.  His balls were getting strangled by green pantyhose, and he was wearing jingle bells, and all they'd managed to do was find 300 copies of a goddamn Jim Carrey movie.

Except nobody liked that one.  Nobody wanted to watch that piece of crap when they could see the real deal, Boris Karloff version.  And none of the DVD cases were sealed.

He heard Schmidt's voice, heavy on the nasal apologies, the annoyed return of Mr. Grinch, and a third set of footsteps behind him at the exact moment that a packet of pills, two red, two green, fell out of the otherwise empty DVD case and hit his bejingled fucking elf boot.

"What the hell do you—"

"Anderson, where the fuck are you—"

"Yeah, sorry, I don't know why the fire door was locked—"

Trusting Schmidt to handle Mr. Grinch, Jenko turned around to see who'd joined their unintentional party.  Paul Blart alert—dude was packing the full mall cop package, and he had a taser aimed at Jenko. 

Without his badge or gun, Jenko raised his hands, nodding towards the boxes.  "I think you've got a little illegal commerce going on."

Paul Blart looked right past Jenko, eyes narrowed.  "What the fuck are you thinking, Anderson?  Jesus Christ on a crutch, did you leave the shipment here so you could tell Santa what you want for Christmas?"

The stupid costume left Jenko no way to carry, much less wear a vest.  Trying not to make any sudden movements, he began to inch closer to some kind of cover. 

Paul Blart fixed him with a look.  "Nuh-uh, Legolas.  Don't even think about it."  He raised the taser, the red dot hovering over Jenko's chest.

"I was just taking a copy for my nephew, man.  I didn't see anything weird."  Jenko shook the DVD case.  "Santa's break is over, and I was supposed to come find him.  I saw the boxes and thought—look it was a really bad idea.  No harm done.  I'll put it back."  He crouched a little, making to fling the case back into the open box. 

He'd gotten tased at the academy, just like everyone else.  It hurt like fuck then, and it wasn't any better when Paul Blart pulled the trigger and lit him up like a Christmas tree.  He dimly heard Schmidt yell "Freeze!" over the sound of his own involuntary screaming, and then his head hit the concrete and everything went silent night. 

 

*+*+*+*+*

 

"Jenko.  Jenko."  Santa Claus was coming to town.  He could hear the bells, and everything was cold and white.  "Greg, fuck, come on.  Wake up.  I tried to stick my finger down your throat, but I was afraid you'd choke to death on your own puke.  _Jenko_."

He groaned, and icebergs crackled apart in his head.  His throat hurt, and the bells were getting louder, shaking like Schmidt's voice.  He tried to say something, but his tongue was too dry.  He rolled over, sleigh bells ringing, and Schmidt helped him sit up.

"The floor hit me."  He rubbed the itchy, throbbing spot on the back of his head, and his hand came away all festive, red and merry. 

"They dosed you with Grinch.  You've been out for a few hours."  Santa leaned in way too close to him, peering into his eyeballs.  "I think you've got a concussion, too.  We need to get out of here."

Jenko remembered being sent to the North Pole and turned into an elf.  He was Santa's helper, but Santa was helping _him_ , and it was all wrong.  "I'm a shitty elf," he said, misery crawling down into the pit of his stomach.  "I didn't help, and now Schmidt's gone, and we're stuck, and nobody will stop the Grinch."

Santa looked at him for a long time, until Jenko went cross-eyed trying to look back and Schmidt appeared out of nowhere, dressed like Santa and cupping his face in both hands.  Jenko flinched away.  "Don't.  My head hurts, and there might be mistletoe, or I might not care."

Schmidt leaned in and kissed his forehead, and Jenko felt a bubble of cheer pop in his overstuffed head.  Giggling hurt his throat and his everything and Schmidt's feelings, probably, but it felt like someone was tickling the back of his brain. 

Schmidt shook his head, letting go of Jenko.  "It's not gonna be this, when it happens, y'know?"  He glanced towards the door, biting his lip.  "I need you to do two things, okay?  I'm going to call them back in here and convince them they only need to take care of me.  These guys are small time.  They don't want to kill anybody.  So I need you to pretend you're still knocked out, and after they take me, you have to find a phone and call 911."

Jenko nodded along to the little red ball bouncing across Schmidt's words, puke rising in his throat as the whole world jumped up and down inside his head.  "Okay, Santa."

Santa touched his forehead again, and all the lights started twinkling behind his eyes.  He rocked with helpless giggles for a second, every movement jarring loose more of the flashing stars.  Someone tried to keep him still, and Jenko didn't think Santa should sound so worried.  He tried to sing along to the silver bells until he'd outsung the giggles and Schmidt was gripping his shoulders, repeating his name over and over.

"Still no mistletoe," Jenko whispered, trying to keep control of his tongue.  "I pretend to sleep, then I call 911."

"You got it, dude.  But just pretend, okay?"

He must have agreed.  He must have.  The next thing he could keep track of was the Grinch coming to steal Christmas, whisking Santa away from him and leaving him alone.  Santa was talking fast, too fast for him to keep track of, but he remembered to pretend, and then Christmas was gone and the door stayed open.

The door was really, really far away, and the floor was nice, now that it wasn't hitting him.

He was a shitty elf.  Santa needed his help, and he was too lazy to get up.  That wouldn't get him on the nice list.  There was nothing in the room with him but a bunch of pipes, and he managed to use them to get to his feet.  "Shhhh," he told the bells, but they kept ringing just to fuck with him.

A lot of the dark hallways were blurry, and Christmas wasn't hiding in any of them.  He was supposed to do the second thing.  A phone.  He needed to find a phone.  Not Santa.  He stopped in front of a door that said "Workshop".  Santa had a workshop.  Maybe the Grinch had come here to steal all the toys, too.

Someone had kept the door from latching by shoving a bear's head into the hinge.  Jenko felt a little sorry for the headless bear.  There was nobody in the room he entered, but a lot of noise coming from beyond the next door.  Maybe it was other, better elves.  Elves who could remember the second thing.  He went to find them.

They weren't elves, though.  They were some kind of horrible big game hunters, and the walls were full of slack animal skins.  The tiny killer nearest him had a heart in her hands, and she was kissing it.  Behind her were five other kids, all clutching hearts and pelts.  One of them had a deer with a red nose.

People were pulling the kids away from him, parting the sea of people in the crowded store.  Someone at a desk within staggering distance had picked up the phone, and Jenko felt a rush of recognition. 

"Yes!  Gimme.  I need that.  The second thing!"  He lunged behind the counter and pulled the phone away from her, feeling bad because she looked scared.  Someone was talking in his ear, so he hung up on them. 

The second thing was calling 911.  He was supposed to call 911, and not fall asleep.  A prickle of frustrated tears burned his eyes as he stared at the phone.  Santa hadn't told him the phone number for 911.  Instead, he pushed the keys for someone who could help him find it. 

"Dickson."

"He stole it, Captain.  He stole it and I can't do the second thing right."  Jenko heaved a breath, spots dancing in his vision as he curled protectively around the phone.

"Who the—Jenko, is that you?  Who the fuck are you talking about?  Your ass better not be drunk dialing me.  Who stole _what_?"

"The Grinch, sir.  He stole _Christmas_."  Little kids and their parents were running past him into the mall, dead, flat animals trampled on the floor.  "Santa said to call 911, but I don't know the number." 

Captain Dickson didn't say anything to him for a little while, but he could hear lots of swearing and yelling in the background.  Jenko giggled, then clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Jenko, where are you?  Where's Schmidt?"

Fighting through weak laughter, Jenko tried to answer.  "He left with the Grinch, and Paul Blart was in on the whole thing.  They gave me red and green, and now everything's funny, and there are dead animals _everywhere_ , Captain, and little red hearts, and it's a workshop."

Dickson asked him something else, but Jenko heard a noise behind him and saw Santa stumble through the workshop door.  Paul Blart and the Grinch followed him, and Paul Blart had a gun.  Jenko dropped the phone on the floor.  Santa had seen him, but it didn't seem like either of the other two had. 

"You're making a mistake, man.  Possession with intent is one thing, but killing a cop will get you life."  Santa had his hands in the air. 

Paul Blart pushed the gun against Santa's head.  "Shut up and keep walking until we find your friend."

It was the Grinch who stopped walking, moving between Santa and Paul Blart.  "Nah.  He's right.  This was supposed to be some holiday cheer, not killing a cop.  This ain't what I signed on for."

Paul Blart shot the Grinch.  Jenko recoiled, the noise of his giggle and Captain Dickson yelling through the dropped phone covered by the Grinch screaming.

This wasn't how Christmas worked.  Santa didn't get shot.  The Grinch didn't get shot.  His heart still had to grow three sizes.

"Fuck this shit," Jenko said, charging Paul Blart and tackling him to the floor.  The gun in his hand skittered across the bright blue and gold carpet.  Santa ran for it, scooping it up.  Jenko sat on Paul Blart's chest and looked down at him for a second as everything spun red and green.  Laughter he couldn't contain roiled up from his gut, bursting out of him.  The store tilted to the side, and Jenko passed out.

 

*+*+*+*+*

 

Hospital food sucked.  Hospital food on Christmas sucked like a Dyson.  Jenko pushed the floppy sheet of "turkey" around his plate one more time, hoping it would come into contact with something that magically made it edible.

His door opened and Schmidt came in, carrying a grease-stained paper bag and a backpack.  "Merry Christmas, dude."

Jenko grinned, even though he was still a little afraid of getting too happy and dying of laughter.  The drugs had been out of his system for nearly 48 hours, but stupid fears didn't have to make sense.  "Aren't you Jewish?"

Schmidt shrugged as he set the paper bag down.  "Yeah, but you're not.  Plus, we celebrated when I was a kid.  My dad likes having a tree."  Slinging the backpack onto the empty bed next to Jenko's, he rifled around in it until he came up with a present wrapped in bright blue paper.  "I only had birthday wrap, though."  He tossed the package to Jenko.

Moving the remains of his meal aside, Jenko tore the paper off and found himself the pleased new owner of all the _Die Hard_ movies.  "Best Christmas movie ever."  He looked up at Schmidt, who'd unpacked a half dozen Chinese food containers from the paper bag.  "Dude, you didn't have to do this."

Schmidt blushed a little, but waved his hand.  "I bring unto you the Christmas traditions of my people—Chinese food and a movie.  I've got my laptop.  I thought maybe we could watch one if you want company."

Jenko didn't remember much of what he'd done or said after getting tased.  Mostly when he tried, he started to get a headache.  The doctor said it was cognitive exhaustion (which sounded like a fancy way of calling him stupid, but was apparently a real thing), and said he might never recover the memories fully.  Add in the drugs, and the odds that he was ever going to recall much more than an urgent need to find Schmidt were slim to none.

Jenko reached out without thinking, wrapping his hand around Schmidt's arm just to make sure he was really there.  Schmidt stilled, the container of General Tso's only half open. 

"I didn't have time to get you anything."

Chuckling, Schmidt went back to work on the food.  "Dude, you puked on someone for me while wearing tights, bells, and boots with curly toes.  That was some festive shit, right there."

"That's me.  Greg Jenko: festive as fuck."

They grinned at each other, a lingering, slightly dopey kind of thing.  Jenko's fatigued brain conjured up the Whoville song to earworm him for the thousandth time, and he hummed it under his breath while they made the day their own.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes: No offense meant to anyone who did, in fact, enjoy the Jim Carrey version of The Grinch. (May the Flying Spaghetti Monster have mercy on your soul.)
> 
> Things the Author Apologizes For:  
> 1\. Lack of an extensive editorial process. My quick and dirty beta reader did me a huge favour. Any mistakes that remain are solely mine, and will probably disappear at some point when I can edit this fic again.  
> 2\. Copious holiday puns, innuendos, and outright abuse of Santa's good name.  
> 3\. Only having seen 22 Jump Street once, and thus not being able to work many references to such into this fic.  
> 4\. All chemistry, biology, and medical handwaving which has occurred above.
> 
> Things the Author Does Not Apologize For:  
> 1\. Jenko's tendency to dry hump Schmidt, whether platonic or not.  
> 2\. Copious language of an ill-bred nature.  
> 3\. Thinking Boris Karloff, is, and evermore shall be, the only Grinch worth getting earwormed for.


End file.
